Wrongful Impression?
by Deity of Sorrow
Summary: Not deleted yet. May be in the near futire. Tl;dr - this sucked. Move along, move along.
1. Wrongful Impressions

_Wrongful Impression?_

Ramoth hissed as the boys dutifully filed out onto the hatching grounds, each in turn bowing to the gigantic queen. Lessa smiled faintly as Ramoth went silent, settling on glaring at the hopeful candidates for Impression. _Take a step back, dear heart, or you'll scare them away_ Lessa told the queen, who didn't answer, but looked a trifle indignant and backed away a few steps. The boys took up a semi circular formation around the clutch of thirty eight eggs. The golden queen egg sat on a mound of the burning sand a little way away from the other eggs, guarded by Ramoth herself.

The dragons started the deep crooning that announced the eggs were about to hatch, excitement mounting as the eggs began to rock. But it wasn't any of the other eggs that hatched first – the golden queen egg began to rock with alarming force, cracks beginning to appear in the shell. Lessa blinked, before ordering for the queen the candidates to be brought in – too late, for the egg had already hatched and was staring at the boys imperiously. With a sudden hop it landed in front of one of the boys, craning its neck to look up at the shocked look on the boys face, and the little queen watched go from shock to immeasurable happiness as Impression took place.

The white haired, pale young man crouched down and hugged his new partner, looking up at the crowd that had gathered, and unerringly found Lessa's face in the throng of shocked people.

"Her name is Meren!"


	2. Wrongful Impressions Ch2

Wrongful Impression – Chapter Two

So, after the myriad of responses from the reviewers, I was sparked into the second chapter. This is also the first story I've written for this category. So no, I didn't write the "girl impresses bronze" thing.

I wrote this after reading the White Dragon, and wondering what would happen if a male impressed a queen – what would the Weyr's think? The holders and the Craftsmasters? What would _Pern_ think? And so this story was born. To all you people screaming "He broke canon! HE BROKE CANON!EHE BROKE CANO" Of course I did. So do you, when you write fanfiction. Barthes, a renound Structualist, who wrote _'Death of the Author', _ reminds us that words never seem transmit a single indisputable meaning … Differences of interpretation are not simply the result of individual differences between different readers … writing is a volatile field, producing within its self many complex, sometimes even contradictory meanings and implications … Writing is the destruction of every voice, of every point of origin (Fuery & Mansfield 2005 p. 63 _Cultural Studies and Critical Theory_)

In other words, kiddies, he's saying what the author writes, and what the author _means _is not how we interpret the story. We can't. My reality is different to yours.

And the name of the dragon, Meren, was supposed to be Merenth, but at 2:30 in the morning, little things escape you.

Thank you for reading, and reviewing, and I hope you continue to enjoy it.

**CHAPTER TWO: **

Rusva, son of Green rider Chiva and brown rider R'ult, fidgeted nervously on his bed. His pale white hair had been recently brushed, flowing in straight lines down his back, spilling onto the bed. The young man had recently been told he would go onto the Hatching Grounds on the day of Hatching, his ruby red eyes – an oddity, even amongst dragon riders – sparking at such a happy memory. His father, although he really only ever thought of him as brown rider R'ult, had clapped him on the shoulder, and told him there that he'd Impress for sure.

The pale young man stretched out, and fell back on the bed, sighing. Being weyrbred, he knew the basic outlay, the rituals and daily routine, but this was Benden! Yes, this was Benden, the most respected Weyr in all of Pern. Rusva felt honored that he had been searched for one of Ramoth's clutches. He did hope that he would Impress, but even if he didn't he was young enough to have a chance to get searched again. But the red eyes young man fervently hoped that he would Impress, and not suffer the crushing defeat he'd seen others suffer when they didn't Impress. He doubted he could endure that.

The door banged open, and Rusva glanced over at the doorway., and sighed. It was Baranil, a younger son of some lord holder somewhere. Rusva really didn't pay attention to the arrogant youth, normally completely ignoring him when ever he spoke. And that was usually often. At the top of his lungs. Which is what he seemed to be doing at the moment. Rusva sighed. "Shut up, Baranil." Was all the red eyed young man said, which made the other go red in the face from anger.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up! I'm a lord holders son!" Baranil screamed, which only caused Rusva to give a short laugh. "Being a son of a Lord Holder doesn't matter in a Weyr, Baranil. Until we Impress and find out the color of our Dragon – if we're lucky enough to Impress, we're rankless." Baranil spluttered in indignation, or, at least until Rusva gave him such a caustic glare that the other silenced and left in a huff. Rusva smiled slightly, rolled over, and went to sleep.

His day was spent in a frantic rush, trying to get everything done before the eggs were to hatch. He noticed everyone else was just as rushed as he was, and it gave him a slightly happy feeling that he wasn't the only one feeling this way.

After supper was done and the hopefuls were sent to bed, the Weyr quietened down, settling into the hushed murmur of sleeping dragons and half awake people. None of the candidates slept. And even if they were able to, the thought of actually Impressing – anything! – was too great a thought to waste precious moments to sleep.

The crooning of dragons woke him. When had he fallen to sleep!? He glanced out the window – shards, it was already near mid-morning! Cursing he rose, and started getting dressed, leaving his bed in such a disarray that it caused the cleaning staff a huge amount of worry.

He got there just in time, for the most fateful day in all of Pern.

"_Her name is Merenth!"_

It rang across the world. A boy, Rusva, had impressed a Gold!


End file.
